


All My Friends Are Dying And I'm Already Dead

by JulyWolf



Category: Original Work
Genre: Allan is really sad and scared, Existential Angst, Gen, Lots of talking about death so if you avoid that please don't read this, Original Character(s), Zala probably called him knowing he was having an internal crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulyWolf/pseuds/JulyWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allan Blackburn thinks too much about his bizarre existence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All My Friends Are Dying And I'm Already Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I finally wrote something new!  
> AND it stars my newest character, Allan. u v u Quite proud of this, honestly.  
> I think I might drop Ten Years Later, unfortunately. It's not really going anywhere, I don't know how to continue it or how to rewrite it so it works.  
> Anyway, a brief bit about Allan: he's undead and not exactly pleased with it. He's terrified of eternal life and thinks too far into it all, especially about his friends. He does this frequently and it really impairs him sometimes.  
> He's really precious, also. I had too much fun writing all of this angst and I'm a bad person.

Allan honestly had never thought about how it happened.  
Admittedly, he had gone all this time more worried about the fact that he had died, then gotten up and walked away from it, rather than thinking about _how_ or _why_.  
It definitely wasn't something that happened on a regular basis to regular people and up until that point, he thought he had been an incredibly regular person.  
By 'regular', he basically meant 'boring'.  
Allan was an only child, he had two regular parents, he was never into anything _occult_.  
He worked in a small shop that pretty regular people frequented, he was friends with...somewhat regular people, though his circle of friends had admittedly changed and gotten a tad weirder since the whole death thing.  
But he definitely emphasized on the bit about nothing occult.  
He had never had any interest in magic or raising the dead or dark, murderous beasts that lurk in fiery chasms.  
Which is why he couldn't begin to figure out what had sparked his 'condition'.  
Allan couldn't think of anyone that he thought would consider doing this to him. He couldn't comprehend anyone being so twisted, honestly.  
He decided to try to look it up once, the farthest he looked was a Wikipedia article about resurrection and Lazarus something-or-other. Lately, as he had begun to actually think about it, Allan considered the possibility that some bizarre deity wanted him for something and gave him a jumpstart when everything went cockeyed.  
He figured he wasn't important enough for any of that nonsense.  
 _"Some powerful, well recognized person would probably be better suited for all that,"_ he thought _"What would any divine entity want with me? That would just be stupid."_  
To be blunt, Allan had **no fucking clue** why or how any of this happened to him. He would love to move on with his... _un-_ life and go about things like a regular person, but no matter how hard he's honestly tried, it has all caught up to him eventually.  
The ability that was somehow bestowed upon him after death to sense most things supernatural and/or nonhuman has proven to be both useful and fucking terrifying.  
He can pick a ghost, a vampire, almost anything under the sun out of a crowd. He's secretly been practicing at it, using it as motivation to get himself out of the house.  
He has described the people he sees to his close, weird friends by saying _"They look kind of...wiggly. They've all got these strange, ripply auras around them until you really get close. Then they stop being so wiggly, I guess?"_  
Most of the people he had told this to had just laughed at his use of the term 'wiggly'. He couldn't think of a better word for it.  
It was a little disturbing for Allan to see the ghosts. What would normally be small crowds of people usually got filled out by spirits and Allan didn't necessarily need his ability to be able to pick some of them out. A lot of them didn't _know_ they were dead and when they caught Allan staring at them after no one else would respond, more often than not he would get dragged off to the side and have to explain their new condition to them as quietly as possible so he didn't look like a complete freak chatting it up with apparitions.  
Most of them cried and it made Allan's stomach turn a little, because every time they did, he realized _'That could have been me.'_  
He could have been the one wandering through a crowd, hopeless and terrified, clothes torn or bloodied or wounds eternally fresh on his incorporeal body.  
Nothing would ever change, nothing would ever heal. The thought made him scared sick.  
He always wanted desperately to hug them, he knew he could, but it was always too public. Doesn't exactly say anything good about your normality if you're seen embracing thin air.  
He tried not to make new friends. He had to select people very carefully, test them out and get close before he could get the guts to explain himself. Lots of people have never had it explained to them. He had left before he ever got around to that, knowing that they wouldn't handle it well.  
Every time he had to force himself to leave someone, it hit him hard. He would stay curled up in his room for days, not entirely knowing or caring that much time had passed at all.  
Eventually someone would call him or come over to try to kick him back into play and he would always cry, no matter who it was, because they all equally mattered too much to him and all he could think about when he heard or saw them was the fact that he would watch them grow old and die while he stayed as he was.  
Forever.  
Or maybe he wouldn't watch them grow old at all, maybe they were a bit like him, but they would get killed off somehow eventually.  
He almost envied them in that aspect, that they could have that end, even if it meant that he would lose them.  
Allan didn't know if he could ever have an end.  
He was almost there, but _something_ just had to go and fuck it all up for him.  
He was fucking terrified of the infinity of it all and he couldn't escape it. He almost wished he was one of those Hollywood type zombies so he would be mindless and get his brains bashed in and have that _end_.  
Just as he finished that thought, the phone rang. He dragged himself up off from the bed and grabbed it, answering with an unintentionally weak "Hello?"  
"Hey, Allan!" Zala's voice chirped from the other end "I was wondering if you wanted to head out tonight? There's this, like, poetry thing going on down at the café. I'm goin', so I didn't know if you wanted to come with."  
"...Yeah, I think I'd like that." Allan replied.  
He could almost hear Zala's grin "Nice! It's happening around seven, I think. See you then?"  
"See you then." He said, right before he hung up.  
Allan still didn't know why or how this happened to him.  
He didn't know if there would ever be any sort of end to it all.  
But for now, he would try not to think about it too often.  
He would just try to live.


End file.
